Devious Ways
by thesirenwriter
Summary: Once, when she was small, she briefly entertained the idea of becoming a sky pirate. Balthier/Ashe. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I shudder to think what might have happened if Final Fantasy XII was mine, but it isn't, so I gather we're all safe for now.

**A/N: **Something else written on a whim, mainly because having only one story made me sad for some reason.

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**Devious Ways**

Once, when she was small, she briefly entertained the idea of becoming a sky pirate. If nothing else, it would allow her some escape from the endless parade of royalty, the conduct meetings, the geography and cultural lessons. And, more than anything, she would be able to fly whenever she wanted, out from under the eye of governesses and staunch Landisian knights.

The sky over Rabanastre was always such a lustrous blue. Tempting, beguiling.

But then, inevitably, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca grew up - learned duty, swordsmanship, the pain of loss, and finally, the overwhelming call for vengeance. She found herself a resistance leader, a prisoner, an outlaw.

Eventually, she found herself in the company of one suave Archadian sky pirate, and somewhere in her mind a youthful voice wondered if she hadn't come full-circle.

"We could do well without searching for firewood, should you continue staring so intensely," Balthier remarked one evening, seating himself across from her at the fire pit. They camped near the Highwaste, preparing for a risky training exercise through the Salikawood and into the ruins of Nalbina. "Something on your mind? Besides the forthcoming threat of the undead, of course."

She managed a wry smile. "Only that, under more extreme circumstances, I might have been provoked into sky piracy."

He inclined his head toward her, amused. "Ah, and is that so? And what circumstances could attract you to such _disreputable_ work, might I ask?"

"That is what I wonder. I barely remember the moment I stopped detesting all the grooming that precedes being a head of state. One moment I was your rather typical little girl, wanting only to play in the gardens or to go and see the airships, and the next I – I was terribly interested, I suppose, in the matters of trade conflicts with Rozarria and what have you. I accepted it all, allowed myself to become passionate for it. But-"

"What if you hadn't?" Balthier wondered, turning to take some crude variety of brandy from a saddlebag. "What if you had only wanted to go and see the airships, until one day you simply flew away in one? I would have some frighteningly ruthless competition, I suspect."

"Or," Ashe continued quietly, as Penelo and Vaan walked passed, absorbed in some strange discussion about the origin of Malboro Kings' crowns, "what if you had never ran? Stayed in Archadia and flourished as a judge?"

His expression turned dark for just a shadow of a moment, just long enough for her to notice the subtle darkening of his eyes, and then he looked amused, quirking an eyebrow at her as he drank his brandy.

"Then, Princess, we might very well have found ourselves right here at the campfire, roles reversed and embroiled in this very discussion. The fates we carve ourselves can be rather devious, that way."

"But you would still be the leading man?"

"Why, of course. I would think that obvious. Though, allowing that Fran is of a tale all her own, as I often suspect, I doubt there is question as to who the leading lady may be."

Now, Ashe considered him with a quirked brow. "Ever the enchanter, aren't you, Pirate? It would serve you well to guard your implications."

"And whatever do you mean by that?"

She fought back a smile, instead leaning back and drumming her fingers on the log on which she sat, affecting a thin veil of boredom. "Before you toss out the phrase 'leading lady,' might I suggest you inquire first-"

"Hey! Balthier!"

And at that Vaan and Penelo both materialized at his side, eager as school children.

"Where do _you_ think Malboro crowns come from? There's a folk tale or something, right? Those things look so expensive, but you never see them in the markets," Vaan asked.

Balthier chuckled. "Ah, you're after ghost stories then? There's a trader's tale for overly curious travelers such as yourselves. But sit down, would you? It won't do to have you both hovering around as though to smother me where I sit . . ."

Ashe leaned forward on her elbow, hiding a small smile behind her fist. If they had, by some well-devised scheme of fate, been brought up and thrown upon reversed paths, perhaps it would be _she_ telling tales. Perhaps he would sit, quietly amused as events unfolded. However, she very much doubted that fate could have altered the peculiar sensation that she, Ashe, Ashelia, or the Crown Princess of Dalmasca, was exactly where she was meant to be.

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**Hurrah! Cheesy-ish ending lines. Love 'em. Thanks for the read! Please drop me a line if you enjoyed it.**


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